


You Got Me

by Heavenly_Stellar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Baking, Boyfriends, Breakfast in Bed, Caring Dean, Castiel in Glasses, Dean Is Whipped, Declarations Of Love, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fever, Fluff, Gift Giving, Grumpy Castiel, Human Castiel, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Protective Dean, Romance, Shy Dean, Sick Castiel, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Stellar/pseuds/Heavenly_Stellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean washes his hands of icing sugar and frosting, humming some Bruno Mar’s song he’d heard on the radio in the Impala. The kitchen looked like a hurricane had swept through it. Dirtied utensils piled up in the sink and were scattered across the bench. Flour, sugar dusted the countertops. Chocolate, milk and food dye painted the table. It was the results of Dean’s baking frenzy. </p>
<p>Yeah. He was only getting a little bit carried away by the prospect of the perfect Valentine’s Day gift for his boyfriend Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey peeps, I've (finally) joined in the festivities of Valentine's Day. The title of this fic based off Colbie Caillat's [song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XuQBd4JbTM).
> 
> Wanna come say hi on tumblr? Go[ here ](http://heavenlystellar.tumblr.com/)

On Valentine’s Day, people around the world who celebrated the momentous day of true love could be separated into two groups. The lovers and the loners whom both still gave the stores a field day from purchasing sweets for their partners or for themselves.

A year ago, Dean would have been categorized into the ‘loner’ batch.

Morosely, he would watch lovesick fools practically bury their spouses’, fiancées, boyfriends and girlfriends with prettily wrapped chocolates or ribbon adorned presents with cute little cards attached to it, sweet words printed on to them. Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. But to Dean—who was an extremely lonely person at the time— Valentine’s Day was all too sickeningly pink and adorable. He remembered thinking how next year would be the same as that year and he would be single, watching Dr. Sexy and stuffing his face with éclairs or some other fattening pastry.

Oh, but a _lot_ had happened this last year. Eight months ago, in June, Dean had met Cas.

Castiel Novak, otherwise known as: the best thing that ever happened to Dean Winchester. And now that February the fourteenth was coming around, Dean couldn’t help but get a little caught up in the festivities.

Dean washes his hands of icing sugar and frosting, humming some Bruno Mar’s song he’d heard on the radio in the Impala.

The kitchen looked like a hurricane had swept through it. Dirtied utensils piled up in the sink and were scattered across the bench. Flour, sugar dusted the countertops. Chocolate, milk and food dye painted the table. It was the results of Dean’s baking frenzy.

Yeah.

He was only getting a _little bit_ carried away by the prospect of the perfect Valentine’s Day gift for his boyfriend Cas.

“I’m entitled,” Dean reassures himself as he catches his reflection in the oven window while he checks his red velvet cupcakes, which are rising nicely. _After all_ , he thinks to himself with a smile, _Cas deserves all of this_.

Dean reaches for the tray of his heart-shaped brownies chest puffing with pride. He had horizontally cut each in half, spread soft strawberry fudge between them and then sprinkled the two-layered chocolate goodies with icing sugar. Dean draws the tray close to him and breathes in the divine scent of the warm chocolate. He trembles with anticipation of sinking his teeth into the treat. Dean places down the brownies on space he’d cleared earlier.

_No_ , he chides himself with a firm shake, _none until Cas comes home_.

Cas is a physiotherapist and works at a medical centre in the city and won’t be home till late. Dean glances up at the clock on the wall. It’s a little past lunchtime and although his tummy grumbles, he’s glad for the many hours he has left to finish and clean everything up. There’s a bounce in his step when he spins round and stretches for the mini peanut butter cups for this epic Cookie Pie recipe he’d found on the Internet.

 

~*~*~

 

The pie has about twenty minutes to go, the brownies are chilling, the kitchen is mostly clean and the cupcakes have just had the final touches added to it. Dean licks a trace of creamy frosting from the pad of his forefinger, his eyelids fluttering when he freezes, a bolt of panic shooting through him when the noise of the front door opening then closing reaches his ears.

 “Dean! Are you home?” Cas calls out and the sound of keys jingling coming from just down the hallway, only a few steps away from the kitchen’s entrance.

_Fuck!_ Dean panics. He rips off his soiled apron, throwing it carelessly on to the tiled floor. Dean dusts himself off and quickly combs his fingers through his hair— all the while stumbling toward the hallway hoping to cut off Cas’ route to the kitchen. Dean rounds the corner sharply and slams straight into his boyfriend almost knocking them both off of their feet.

“Ooh!” Cas exclaims in surprise, hands immediately latching on to Dean’s hips. The other man’s glasses go askew and past the lenses, his bright blue eyes widen. “Dean!” A nonplussed smile curves his lips.

“Cas!” Dean shouts back—he internally winces at how overly cheerful he sounds—and crowds Cas’ space in attempt to herd him backward, away from the kitchen. Cas doesn’t budge an inch and he frowns at Dean in confusion.

“You’re home… Early,” Dean tries not to sound too suspicious, but his voice betrays him as it wavers with his jittery nerves. Cas squints at him, already sensing something amiss and so Dean flips tactics, tilting his head and capturing his boyfriend’s lips in a frenzied clash of passion.

The other man makes a startled, yet soft noise. Dean’s hand cups Cas’ jaw and the other works its way down the front of Cas’ white dress shirt. His nails drag against the warm skin beneath the fabric and occasionally catch on buttons.

Cas suddenly becomes lively under Dean’s barrage of firm touches and the kiss grows deeper, with the addition of tongue and teeth. His arms wrap around Dean’s shoulder, bringing them chest-to-chest. One of Cas’ hand creeps up the back of Dean’s head, fingers entangling in the short hair, tugging and massaging.

They crash into the wall with a mighty bang— several times— as they playfully fight for who gets to pin whom. In the end Cas is the one whose got Dean’s knee between his legs and who gasps for air while he rolls his hips and rubs his groin down against Dean’s jean-clad thigh while the kiss grows deeper.

“Dean—” Cas gasps against Dean’s persistent lips. “Dean, w-wait… I…”

Dean hums and reluctantly pulls back, green eyes blown with desire as he takes in Cas’ flushed face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Dean murmurs, playing with the hem of Cas’ now-untucked shirt.

What Dean does not expect is the blush to Cas’ complexion to completely melt away and be replaced by a ghastly white, quicker than it took the time for Dean to blink. He opens his mouth to voice his concern when Cas’ blue eyes roll back into his head.

“Cas?” Dean yelps and staggers back as Cas’ deadweight falls upon him. Dean’s blood runs ice-cold through him. “Cas! Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit,” he curses repeatedly as he gently lays Cas down on the floor of their apartment’s hallway, his heart pounding in his ears.

 

~*~*~

 

“I’m sorry,” Cas apologizes, the thermometer in his mouth bobbing up and down. “I should have told you that the reason I came home early from work was that I wasn’t feeling… how do you put it… ‘so hot’? I think I just caught a cold from one of the patients.”

Cas is lying down, with his head propped up with two pillows and is as snug as a bug under the blue, downy comforter they’d bought when it got too cold in November. His glasses are on the nightstand.  Dean sinks to his knees beside their king-sized bed and rests his elbows atop of the mattress, hands coming up to clasp together as if he were about to pray.

“Shush, you,” Dean chides.

“Do you…” Cas pauses to sniffle, thermometer snapping upward and hitting him on the nose. “Do you really think checking my temperature is necessary?” he asks, voice rougher than usual.

It’s just another reminder of how negligent Dean is of his boyfriend’s health. The fact that Cas coming down with the flu makes Dean want to bash his own head against a wall.

Why hadn’t he noticed the symptoms earlier? The hoarse voice, the hazy look in those blue eyes, the slumped shoulders?

Dean reaches over and plucks the thermometer out of Cas’ mouth, making the blue eyes go cross-eyed. Involuntarily he covers Cas’ hand with his as his eyes zero in on the numbers. His stomach drops.

“103, Cas!” Dean cries out, gaping slightly. “Jesus—” he flounders, going to stand, “we need to get you into an ice bath.”

Cas pouts. “I don’t wanna,” his head lolls to the side, refusing to meet Dean’s concerned eyes.

Dean tosses the thermometer on to the unoccupied side of the bed and goes about peeling the covers off of Cas. His boyfriend determinedly tugs the comforter out of Dean’s hands and sluggishly rolls, further wrapping himself around the squishy duvet.

“Cas, don’t be an ass,” Dean prods the blanket burrito the other man has become.

“I just want to sleep,” Cas bemoans, face turned away from Dean.

Dean rubs a hand over his face, bristling with frustration as he watches the mop of rumpled dark hair slowly disappear under the coverlet. Dean shakes his head in exasperation. He doesn’t exactly want to carry the guy to the bath, kicking and screaming like some toddler.

Dean settles on the bed, hand landing heavily down on the bulge of blankets and warmth.

“C’mon Cas,” he wheedles, rubbing his palm up and down where he can feel that protruding hipbone of Cas’. “You can sleep after.”

Cas wiggles in reply but doesn’t exactly do much else. Dean pulls the comforter down past Cas’ wild mass of tousled hair till he catches a glimpse of the side of his boyfriend’s face. He sees the flush of his cheeks, which would be adorable under different circumstances. Cas’ eyes are firmly closed shut. Dean leans in and presses a kiss to Cas’ cheek.

“Baby,” he murmurs with a hint of a whine.

Dean works his mouth along the line of Cas’ jaw, tongue flicking out at places he knows will make his boyfriend hot and bothered and more importantly, passive. He shifts so his body slots against Cas like jigsaw puzzle pieces, with his lips relentless against the feverish skin.

“Please…” Dean whispers into Cas’ ear, slyly and languidly rolling his hips, drawing a pleased hum from the basically motionless body beside him. “Cas? Baby, please, it’s the bath or the hospital…”

Cas sniffles defiantly. Dean murmurs another plea, straining to convey the amount of turmoil he’s feeling inside from seeing Cas like this. He’s about to lose hope when a beat later, it’s as if all the fight drains from Cas’ body as he goes limp, deflating like a balloon.  

“Alright,” Cas grumbles.

~*~*~

 

“This is _not_ at all very dignifying,” Cas, states, looping his arms around Dean’s neck.

“Shut up,” Dean tells him, gradually getting angrier and angrier. “You can’t fucking walk, so I’m going to fucking carry your stubborn butt.”

“My butt is not stubborn,” Cas snaps, his grip on Dean tightening as his feet get lifted from the ground. “Your butt is stubborn. I can walk, you know.”

Dean grunts, beginning to sweat from the exertion of carrying his weak boyfriend bridal style. “Yeah, okay, says the dickhead who told me moments ago that the room was spinning.”

Dean flinches and lets out a surprised, “Ow!” when Cas slaps him upside the head, an unpleasant sting tingling afterwards.

“What the fuck?” Dean glares at Cas whose face is like two inches away from his.

“No name-calling when I’m—” a hacking cough interrupts his own words and Dean has to lean against the wall to support their combined weights while Cas’ chest heaves and his whole body convulses, hand over his mouth.

“When I’m sick,” he finishes miserably once his coughing fit is over, eyes watering.

“Jesus Christ, Cas, you sound like you’re dying,” Dean’s arms wobble with the strain of carrying Cas. The blue-eyed man through his febrile cloud notices this and starts to slide one leg out of the crook of Dean’s arm. Dean makes a noise of disagreement and tries to hold Cas closer to him.

“I can walk,” Cas insists, voice quiet but firm with no room for argument.

Dean swallows. “Okay,” he slowly and reluctantly releases Cas.

“Thank you,” Cas says once his feet are on the ground again, he puts his palm to the wall and takes baby steps to the bathroom, which is so close but seems so far away. Dean hovers nervously close by, hands out and ready to catch his lover if he were to fall.

 

~*~*~

 

The ice-cubes slosh about in the water of the tub as Dean pours the bag in. They had been having fridge problems last month and had been on a regular basis for a few days been buying bags of ice for the many iceboxes in which they’d been storing their food. After it had been fixed up, there had been a few spare bags of it, which Dean had shoved into the back of their freezer.

Boy, was he glad that they were there now. Otherwise he’d had have to leave Cas home alone why he popped down to the nearest store.

Dean shakes out the last few icicles of the plastic bag and they land in the rippling body of water with tiny splashes.

“Alright-y,” Dean chucks the empty, wet bag over his shoulder and claps his hands together. He tests the water with his finger and bites back a yip, hurriedly yanking his hand back and wiping the water off on his jeans.

He turns round and is met with Cas’ infamous ‘not-amused’ expression: azure eyes dangerously narrowed, a deep crease between his eyebrows and mouth pressed into a thin line. Dean takes a single step forward in their crowded bathroom and squats down in front of Cas who sits on the toilet, the lid down, of course.

“I thought you’d jump at the chance of taking your clothes off,” Dean smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes because of all those damned worried emotions writhing inside of him.

“Urghhh,” Cas runs his hands through his hair once before his body folds over itself as slumps forward. His forehead hits Dean’s shoulder. “I hate fevers.”

“Me too, buddy,” Dean says as his hand drifts to Cas’ unruly hair, smiling at the way Cas leans into his touch as Dean cards his fingers through the dark strands. “Let’s get it over with, and then we’ll see how you go.”

Cas lethargically lifts his head and nods once before he goes about unbuttoning his shirt. Dean bats his hands away and takes over after Cas fails for the fifth time on the third button.

“I’m _so_ useless,” Cas says in a too quiet voice, head hanging low.

Dean reassuringly pets at the soft, heated skin of his boyfriend’s torso. “Don’t say that,” he says gruffly up at his boyfriend, “it’s just the fever talking.”

“Can’t even fucking undress myself,” Cas chokes, shying away from Dean.

“Hey,” Dean says softly, waddling closer and framing Cas’ face with his hands. He cranes his head forward and brushes his lips against Cas’. Cas whimpers and Dean feels a thrum of shock jolt his body when he feels wetness under his fingers.

He goes to kiss him again but Cas makes a noise of discomfort and Dean understands. Tenderly, he wipes away the tears then lets his hands fall to Cas’ thighs.

“Sit up straighter?” Dean requests.

Trembling all over, Cas obeys albeit at a slow pace. Dean reaches for the top button of Cas’ slacks, pushes it through the hole then works the zip down.

“Cas, you little shit, you’ve been stealing my underwear. Again,” Dean laughs and the mood lightens a little.

“They’re softer,” Cas whispers.

Dean hums in agreement before deciding that he doesn’t want Cas to be up on his feet just yet to slide those pants off.

“I’m sorry,” Cas bites his quivering bottom lip, fresh tears coming down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I took them.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean says and stands.

He slides the white fabric of the dress shirt off of Cas’ rounded shoulders and gently pulls his arms out of the sleeves. Dean makes sure he touches Cas as often as possible, even if its small touches like his fingers skimming over the swell of muscle at his boyfriend’s bicep. Just as a source of comfort as Cas works through his stifled sobs. The shirt falls to the ground.

“Gotta get your pants off, sweetheart,” Dean says. “You okay to stand?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Alright,” Dean shifts so he’s on one knee, leg bent and thick in line with Cas’ left. “Put your arms around me.”

Cas does so, and Dean’s nose bumps into his bare chest. Unable to resist, Dean cocks his head to the side and smooch Cas right below his left nipple, where the skin dips into a line where it meets the plane of his lithe-muscled middle.

“Dean,” Cas huffs out a laugh. “Tickles,” he mumbles in explanation.

“I know,” Dean grins, reaches around his boyfriend, fingers curling in the waist of Cas’ pants.

He drags the material of Cas’ pants and boxers under the curve of his ass then down his bent knees. They bunch up at his ankles and Dean untangles Cas feet from them. Cas’ elbows are at his protruding hipbones; his hands dangle limply between his legs, just covering his flaccid dick. Dean wants to rub his boyfriend all over—not in a sexual way _this_ time— just to get some color into him.

Cas has gone rather pale from the fever, his usually tan skin bleached of colour.

Not a good sign.

“A-ah!” Cas gasps, eyes screwing shut as he lowers himself into the frigid waters of the bathtub, the ice-cubes chink and clink against the sides as they’re disturbed. Dean holds on to Cas’ elbow cooing soft words on encouragement and reminding him how this is going to make him better.

 

~*~*~

 

The ice bath dropped Cas’ temperature and in a few days felt unbelievably better. Of course, it wasn’t just the extremely freezing waters that helped him. Dean had been by his side nursing him and generally being a mother hen about the whole ordeal. Feeding him soup. Medicating him.

Getting his breathing regulated if Cas had any problems. Holding Cas at night. Rubbing his back. Kissing his sore joints.

Valentine’s Day slipped from Dean’s fingers, but he wasn’t disappointed.

Dean opens the fridge and heaves out a heavy-hearted sigh. All the delectable treats he’d made for his boyfriend have been placed innocuously on the shelves, packed away in plastic containers. The green-eyed man kneads the tight knots of muscle in his shoulder with his fingers and looks at the goodies forlornly.

Not disappointed about Valentine’s Day at all, no, no. 

Of course it would end up not panning out. It was just Dean fucking Winchester’s luck. He slams the fridge door, the insides rattling metallically. One day. He only wanted one day to show how much he truly loved Cas. To let him know how enormously he appreciated his presence, his dorky-ness, his weird-ass sense of humor, and most importantly, his love. Dean paces up and down the kitchen, trembling with frustration at the unfairness of it all.

Then it hits him like he’d walked into a brick wall.

Why Valentine’s Day?

Why specifically should Valentine’s Day be _the_ day where you express love and affection for the ones who matter in your life?

It should be every single good day, where you’re both alive and in each other’s company.

Especially for someone like Cas whom Dean hopes to be with for as long as they both are willing. Will it be for life? Who knows? But right now he loves Cas with all his heart and Valentine’s Day shouldn’t— can’t— won’t influence that just because some guy got decapitated a few hundred years ago because of some fling or whatever on February the fourteen.

Dean grins, seized by the sudden conviction of a plan for Valentine’s Day— take two.

Stomach at his feet, he runs around the kitchen like a headless chicken, a plastic tray from one cupboard, the bread plates from another. He fills the kettle with water and places it back on its stand, pressing the button to begin the boiling of it. Dean picks the most sissy-looking teacup they own, with a rose pattern encircling the china surface. He rifles through the pantry till he finds Cas’ favourite kind of tea, Chamomile. He opens the fridge and his whole body fills with excitement as he practically dives in and grabs the baked items.

Once everything is to perfection, Dean takes a step back to admire the heavily laden tray.

It looks amazing and is going to be the best (and unhealthiest) breakfast in bed Cas will ever have had. He rearranges the plates, the saucer with the teacup and flower— a fake yellow one he’d bought— one more time before he carefully picks it up and heads toward the bedroom where Cas will be, either still asleep or awake and reading in bed.

 

~*~*~

 

_Oh God_ , Dean thinks, his palms sweating like he’s a teenager about to get his first kiss.

_What if it’s too much of a sugar overload? What if Cas doesn’t like the cookie pie? What if the fudge is too sticky?_

The ‘what if’s barrage Dean’s thoughts for a good five minutes as he stands stock still at the bedroom door. The teacup making a tinkling noise snaps him out of his nervous break down as he realizes that his hands are shaking real bad. Dean sucks in a deep breath through his mouth and exhales through his nose. He gulps loudly and steadies his hands, inwardly chiding himself for his behavior. He slides the tray so it balances on his forearm and cautiously he turns the doorknob.

Cas is awake.

He’s sitting upright, legs stretched out and covered by their blue comforter. Yawning, he turns the page of his book that sits on his lap and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. The pajama shirt he dons is too big for him, old, worn and stretched. It slides a little off his shoulder and reveals his clavicles.

Dean loves that shirt. On nights where Cas is working late at the physiotherapy clinic doing paperwork or helping a challenging patient, and doesn’t see Dean, the green-eye man wears that stupid shirt like the major sook he is. Cas will often kiss Dean long and hard the next time they see each other after he sees Dean in the shirt.

Dean clears his throat, “Cas,” he calls out.

Instantly he feels heat rush to his cheeks and his eyes prickly with embarrassment. He blinks rapidly and has the sudden urge to maim himself somehow. Dean awkwardly waits for Cas to lift his head. Moments go by and Dean feels sick with relief and disappointment that Cas hadn’t heard him anyway, still immersed in the book he’s reading intently, blue eyes darting back and forth as they drink in the words.

As silently as possible, Dean takes a few steps forward, straightens his spine and pushes his shoulders back.

_Confidence is key_ , he reminds himself. _Confidence is key. Confidence is…_ ” he pauses. _Oh fuck, who I am kidding I should abort mission like right now since he hasn’t seen me yet…_ he sharply spins on his heel and begins to walk back to the door. _FUCK! Winchester, man up, you pussy! Nope, can’t do this shit. Too freaking old for this shit._

“Stupid idea anyway, what kind of dude bakes for his sex-god-of-a-boyfriend? Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters to himself, totally unaware that he’s verbally expressing his innermost thoughts as he hightails it out of the bedroom.

“Oh!” Cas makes a noise of surprise from behind him. “Hello, Dean. Are you alright?”

_Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck_ , Dean’s brain chants. He slowly turns around, the blush in his cheeks returning in full force.

“Uh, I…” Dean begins as he watches Cas’ face when those blue eyes zero in on the tray in Dean’s hands. As he sees the perfectly rounded red velvet cupcakes with its exquisite swirl of white frosting on the top with cute little pink hearts sprinkled on top, the layers of loveheart-shaped brownies with strawberry fudge oozing from its insides and the slice of colorful polka-dotted cookie pie, Cas is stunned speechless.

“Listen, Cas…” Dean tries again, walking forward and stopping right at Cas’ side, unable to look into his boyfriend’s eyes, staring at the little candy hearts on his cupcakes. “I made you some things for Valentine’s Day… but, you got sick, and that’s okay because it doesn’t really matter. I mean, it doesn’t matter what day it is ‘cause I love you, alright? I love you every day. I miss you so much when you’re at work for so long and it scares me how happy I get when I get to see you and I wanted to let you know by making you all of this stuff… I mean, it’s not, like anything too fancy I guess but I hope you’ll like it.”

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is completely wrecked. Dean glances up to see Cas put the book down on the bed and move up on to his knees. He reaches over, pries the tray from Dean’s fingers and gently places it on the nightstand. Cas faces Dean, blue eyes glowing and glistening.

“Come here,” he fists the front of Dean’s shirt, “you beautiful, beautiful, beautiful man.”

Cas drags Dean forward into a forceful and heated kiss, their lips moving fervent and heartfelt against each other in sync. Cas is kissing Dean like the man he’s holding on to is everything he’s ever desired, ever wanted, ever needed. Both men give the kiss their everything, moaning and whimpering into each other’s lips like its almost painful, how deeply they love each other.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to all! As always, I love to hear your thoughts and don't forget to press that kudos button ;) Appreciate it.
> 
> Additional: guys, I found out that ice baths for people with fevers is actually SERIOUSLY DANGEROUS! So don't do this at home!


End file.
